i burned my tongue on late november last year, we were still together. and now, lonely girls sit under fake blue moons, twisting their lives into small categories: the before and the after. hey, don't think it's romantic just because of the lo-fi coffee sounds. last year, we were bold and defiant: miniature buddhas bounced… Continue reading poem: almost song lyrics. almost.
Category: poetry
poem: delusional man
I am not so good at this, she says: the creaking of her hands being wheeled behind her head, and the gears pulling a smile taunt over her too-life-like face, the blue eyes put flat above wavy almond hair, the color of it perfect inspiration, a lucky miracle that comes from the painter staring outside… Continue reading poem: delusional man
poem: girlhood in fantasy
the spring is too flat here; there are no grand peaks in the clouds, no witches asleep over grey moors, their brooms spliced out into moss and heather. these are meant to be the wailing times and yet when I stand outside, I hear nothing. there should be the tromping of boots as my sister… Continue reading poem: girlhood in fantasy
poem: seungri, burning sun
he was desperate: too in love with the madness in his soul that came with applause and with people laughingsmilinglaughing at him; the concerts halls smoked up with the devil and the afterparties full of hands clapping his shoulders because it was only him making it. and he had carved immorality into the drug-sick swaying… Continue reading poem: seungri, burning sun
poem: tourist
Did the man you met in Hong Kong tell you of the sparkles, falling behind your eyes? Did he tell you that souls are easily distilled into green tea, and tongues can be plucked out and served with monkey-feet and cinnamon as delicacy; that strangers will pay steep money to sit in a tight booth,… Continue reading poem: tourist
poem: i swear i’m not neurotic, i just have control issues.
she sat alone; men are formulas with no answer, with no reason, and she can lay things out nicely in her head, but hit /run program/ and it is errorerrorerrorerror. they are laughing at her; they are laughing at her when she goes into the room, when she goes to the front of the room,… Continue reading poem: i swear i’m not neurotic, i just have control issues.
poem: they told the girl
they told the girl: you are not going anywhere, you are going to sit in the dark for the rest of your sorry sad life. you are just like a balkan rat, boring out the eyes of your kin, hissing and scratching and screaming in the night, and all the little children, their lacy bare… Continue reading poem: they told the girl
poem: the human glory of political economics
there are times when I am fascinated by politics and the rollicking play of the market is a sort of sweet drug, made into a gladiator fight between the two colored corners of this universe, rushing always into bright contact and history falling away in the process as little glass pieces for children to pick… Continue reading poem: the human glory of political economics
poem: my mother has done everything
She is two-stepping in an Arizona bar with some old-timer, the walls hung with adobe, tassels, turquoise bracelets for sale and the stereo bleeding out early 90's country-folk. The Indians at the bar are leaning in, stoically awed by the way this city girl already has the West in her eyes. She will not… Continue reading poem: my mother has done everything
poem: sex ed. from camelot
When I was younger, I spent some ten or so breathless hours lying on an unmade bed, grey sky clamped above me: I was reading one of my mother's books from college, those years when she went through her pagan stage and believed in abortion and Earth Mothers. The legacy of that is kept on… Continue reading poem: sex ed. from camelot
the last pavilion 